


À la Carte

by queengabby



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-08
Updated: 2015-09-08
Packaged: 2018-04-19 16:56:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4753958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queengabby/pseuds/queengabby
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Collection of Stories within a Restaurant AU: In which Fenris takes an interest in a fine restaurant called ‘The Red Talon’ and ends up part of the kitchen brigade. Features terribly named culinary schools, a colorful waiting staff, and an angry food critic. In the midst of all this, Fenris gets to know the executive chef -- whose tongue is sharper than the knives she cooks with.</p>
            </blockquote>





	À la Carte

**Author's Note:**

> I've been thinking about this idea for months now, and I finally got the sudden urge to write last night. I haven't had much time to clean it up, so apologies in advance. Hopefully I'll look it over before I finish the next chapter.  
> Ideas are getting mixed up in my head so I had to organize them out here! I had a few drawings to support this AU as well, I might get around to posting them...maybe.

It was a cool morning when Fenris decided to bring his resume in. The leaves outside were turning color, darkening in shades of oranges and reds. They crackled gently when the brush of wind swept under the branches and through the path of the sidewalk.

If he was being completely honest, he had been preparing himself mentally for weeks. He methodically went through the steps in his mind: ask politely to speak to the manager, respectfully discuss his credentials, maybe mention how his success was evident through both his education and his prior training. Fenris adjusted the tie around his neck by tugging at his collar, trying to loosen the knot building itself in his throat. He stood in front of the building, not hesitating to pull the door open and to step in.

            “Good morning, and welcome!” came a chipper voice, and Fenris identified its origin, from the petite girl standing in front of him. She had short brown hair, which she tucked behind an ear – a nervous twitch, he presumed. Her nametag read ‘Merrill’.

            “Hello.” He managed, before swallowing. He shook off his nerves, even as they grew the more she inspected him.

            “The dining hall is closed until lunch.” She said, politely. Though she made no indication that he had to leave – or why the door was unlocked, for that matter. Most restaurants didn’t have the hostess greeting people at 8 in the morning.

            “I would like to speak to your manager.” Fenris said, noticing the forks and plates in her hands. He had caught her in the midst of setting the tables for lunch.

            “Oh! She’s in the kitchen right now, I’ll go get her!” Merrill replied, with an unusual amount of enthusiasm so early in the morning. He cringed when she almost dropped the plates on her feet, closing his eyes when she spilled the utensils onto the floor instead.

            Fenris heard momentary shuffling behind the staff doors, and then a taller woman walked out with Merrill. Her shoulders were broad, only softened by the cardigan she was wearing. Her expression had a hard edge to it as she watched Merrill pick up the forks off the floor, presumably due to stress.

            “Sorry for the confusion this morning,” the manager spoke, and Fenris reached out to shake her hand. The woman shook it with a firmness he immediately respected, and then he gave a last-minute attempt to straighten his shoulders. “My name is Aveline Vallen, and I’m the manager. Did you have a problem with last night’s dinner service?”

            Fenris blinked, distracted by the fact that it was Aveline’s first assumption that he was here to file a complaint. “No, not at all. My name is Fenris. I was hoping to submit my resume.”

            “Resume? You want to work here?” she asked, sounding equally surprised and exasperated at the idea. “We’re not exactly hiring at the moment but—” Aveline paused, and it was silent before Merrill dropped a glass.

            “Sorry, sorry!” the younger girl apologized profusely, running to the kitchen momentarily, and returning with a broom.

            Aveline sighed, folding her arms over her chest. “What position were you looking for, exactly?” she asked, and took Fenris’ resume out of the manila folder.

            “Line cook, or prep cook if that is unavailable.” He said, suddenly unsure what to do with his hands now that she had taken his application.

            “Hmm, alright. Come with me.” Aveline slipped the resume back into the manila folder and handed it back to Fenris, turning and walking back to the staff doors.

There was a split area where the waiting staff would place their orders, and where the food would sit under a warming light until they came back to claim it. He followed Aveline around a corner, an impressive kitchen greeted him: stainless steel appliances and countertops, and fresh herbs and vegetables in newly brought-in crates. Fenris could hear shuffling feet, and saw a cutting board move from one surface to another.

“Excuse me, Donnic.” Aveline murmured to one man who was organizing some of the vegetables. Fenris caught a glimpse of the cook, as the man pressed himself closer to the table to accommodate the manager walking around him. Donnic was clearly nervous at Aveline’s presence, apologizing under his breath.

“Hawke, I’ve an applicant here, he wants to work in the kitchen.” Aveline spoke to another person who was washing their hands, out of sight from where Fenris stood.

“Does he, now?” he heard a chipper voice speak, and then laugh. “Finally! Someone can help me drown out how chatty Donnic gets, isn’t that right, Donnic?” and he saw Donnic crack a smile.

“Of course, Hawke.” He said, and Hawke slapped his arm playfully as she walked around him, followed by Aveline.

The chef was much less intimidating than he had led himself to believe. Fenris, himself, wasn’t very tall, but he had suspected her to be his height if not taller. Instead, she was shorter than him, her eyes at the level of his chin. Her hair was dark brown, in a messy bob cut kept out of her face by a hairband.

“Name’s Hawke.” She greeted, and he simply nodded, responding only when she put her hand out to shake his. “Donnic’s my sous-chef, and my babysitter.”

“Hawke.” Aveline said, her tone a warning. “Try to make a good impression, you might make him change his mind.”

Fenris smirked; comforted by the fact that Hawke was relaxed. “So you’re the infamous Hawke?” he asked.

“Oh, you’ve heard the stories then? Or perhaps you’ve read the reviews.” Hawke folded her arms, pressing a finger to her mouth and glancing to his left in thought. “Ratings have been down lately, since I took over.”

“Still impressive.”

“Impressive enough to have you want to work here, I suppose.” She amended and smiled.

“Here’s his resume.”

“Aveline, are you holding back on me?” Hawke asked, feigning shock as the manager handed her the folder.

“Your hands were still wet from washing vegetables.”

“Excuses, excuses – so you want to be a line cook, hm?” she asked and Fenris nodded. He could hear Aveline sighing in exasperation. He was beginning to understand why the manager was always frowning.

“Or a prep cook, if both duties are for the same position.” He explained.

“I see you’ve worked for Tevene Cuisine. I’ve never eaten anything there.” Hawke said, pulling the paper out of the folder to read the last lines.

“That’s because it’s on another continent, Hawke.” Aveline clarified and looked at Fenris. “You’ve come a long way to cook at a place like this.”

“We’re still fine dining! Maybe.” Hawke said, and Fenris glanced over to Aveline.

“I was an apprentice to Chef Danarius until his death.” He said.

“He died? I didn’t think he was that old.” Aveline said, blinking in surprise.

“He wasn’t. He was poisoned.”

“Yikes, remind me not to eat there, then.” Hawke joked.

“Hawke.” Donnic and Aveline both said in unison, and when Aveline looked at the chef, he shrunk under her gaze.

“The poison didn’t kill him. The heart attack did.” Fenris clarified, and Hawke found something about the situation to be so hilarious that she guffawed. 

“Competition must be cut-throat in the Imperium then. I can see why you left.” Hawke had settled down from her laughing and sighed. “So you have experience and you have wit. But I’d like to see you in action.”

Fenris blinked, “Excuse me?” he asked, and she gestured for him to follow her to the other side of the counter, and handed him a cutting board.

“Chop chop, Fenris!”

“May I wash my hands first?” he asked dryly, and she grinned.

“You passed the first test, well done!” Hawke replied, as Fenris loosened his tie, tucking the end into his breast pocket and rolling up the sleeves of his shirt.

“Hawke, he’s not even dressed for the kitchen.” Aveline said, exasperated, even as Fenris walked past her to the sink and washed his hands.

“Nonsense, a prep-cook must always be ready to chop vegetables.”

“That makes no sense.” Donnic supplied, but Hawke paid no attention to the chef, setting out various vegetables for Fenris to cut on a clean cutting board.

When Fenris returned to the counter, he was given a chef’s knife. He made quick work of the vegetables she laid out, listening to Hawke as she carried on with one conversation to another.

“So what drew you to my humble restaurant, Fenris?” Hawke inquired, as he used the top of the knife’s blade to push some of the vegetables aside.

“The name, actually.”

“You were inspired by ‘the Redwood Talon’? My father would be pleased then.” Hawke snorted.

“Your father is Malcolm Hawke, correct?” Fenris asked, “He and this restaurant are quite well known, even in the Imperium. You as well.” He explained.

“What about my siblings?” she asked, and Fenris shook his head. “They’re twins – they work here too. My brother Carver is a sommelier in training, and my sister Bethany is a waitress.”

“A sommelier in training?” Fenris sounded interested, and glanced over at her.

“He used to be a line cook.” Donnic explained. “Didn’t like living under his older sister’s shadow, so he tried something else.”

“Is Bethany in the same situation, then? Since you are the eldest?” Fenris asked, and Hawke shook her head.

“She wants to work in the kitchen but she doesn’t have formal training.” Hawke sighed, and brushed a bit of hair out of her face. “I can’t, in good conscience, let her work in the kitchen until she goes to culinary school.”

“She should go to the school you attended, Hawke. What was it?” Aveline asked, and Hawke smirked.

“The Faded Vale’s School of Cookery. Hardly a place I would recommend for my sister, it was brutal.” She explained. “I did work in a restaurant, you know. For a time.”

“What is the name of the restaurant?” Fenris asked as he pushed the seeds from the peppers aside. Donnic brought over a small compost bag and cleaned up the waste.

“No cheating, Donnic!” Hawke pointed to the sous-chef, though the man continued with his business, even as she shifted topics. Fenris felt as if this was a common occurrence. “It was called The Lothering Lounge.”

“I have not heard of it.” Fenris finished cutting the vegetables and put them in a container, wiping his hands with a nearby towel. “Is it quite famous?”

Hawke snorted. “Not at all. Though the food is quite good considering how far it is from the city.”

“Your brother – where is he training to become a sommelier?” Fenris asked.

“Here. We have a master sommelier working with Carver, and he’s a family friend.”

“Someone talking about me this early in the morning? I’m so flattered.” A deeper voice chimed in.

“Ah if it isn’t my favorite professional alcohol taster!” Hawke announced as the man rounded the corner of the kitchen with a full crate of wine bottles. They clanged together as he stood on his tiptoes to set them on one of the nearby counters, and dusted his hands off.

“Varric Tethras, at your service.” The man greeted, and held his hand out to shake. Fenris took it briefly, and quirked a small smile when Varric stepped back to pull a wine bottle out of the crate. “Every bottle of wine has its own story, that’s my job.”

“Your job is wine and food pairing.” Aveline clarified, and walked around the group, exiting the kitchen.

Hawke chimed in, gesturing to Fenris. “This is Fenris, our new prep-cook slash line-cook, slash speedy vegetable chopper.”

“That’s a mouthful, so how about I just call you Fenris.” Varric chuckled and put the wine bottle back into the crate.

“Wait, but…” Fenris looked at Hawke in surprise. “Does that mean that—?”

“Of course you’ve got the job you fop!” Hawke leaned on the counter next to him and laughed at his expression. “Don’t wear a tie next time though. Speaking of which, I’ll have to put an order in for your chef’s smock.”

“I – thank you.” Fenris smiled, fixing the collar of his shirt.

Aveline stepped into the kitchen again, and handed him a form. “You’ll have to fill this out and bring it in tomorrow morning for your shift at 7am.”

“Paperwork, Aveline! How do you manage to keep the fun coming?” Hawke gave the manager a grin before turning to the newly hired cook. “Here’s to the many dishes ahead, Fenris.”

 


End file.
